


Wounds

by katyhorrorpictureshow



Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4785035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyhorrorpictureshow/pseuds/katyhorrorpictureshow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Papa Emeritus appears to a fan in need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains potentially triggering content such as self harm and thoughts of suicide. Please read at your own discretion.
> 
> Fic edited for grammar/brevity on 4/8/18.

A voice inside her head demanded for her to cut deep, to let the blood ebb from her wounds. She tried to fight back the ominous voice and its cruel orders, but no matter how strongly she blocked the voice, it always returned. It hissed in her ear and made tingles spread throughout her body, signs of wariness and guilt. She had battled against the urges to hurt herself for so long now. Why should she succumb again when there was more to look forward to in life? She didn’t want to lose this battle once again.

_I can feel the thunder that’s breaking in your heart… I can see through the scars inside you._

She recalled the lyrics of one of Ghost’s songs, ‘Cirice’ off of their newest album. Ever since the single came out in May, she’d taken the song to heart. The lyrics Papa crooned spoke to her on a personal level, calming her down from the anxiety swarming in her mind. It was almost like he understood her pain and frustration, and wanted to descend down to Earth from whatever hellish place he resided to comfort her.

But Papa Emeritus was what you could call an anonymous celebrity. He was rumored to be a man merely playing a macabre version of dress-up. There was no way for the skeletal singer to appear out of thin air and lull her into a calm trance. 

Or was there?

Sighing, she closed her eyes and set down the blade on the bathroom counter. No matter how badly she wanted to punish herself for things she hadn’t quite done, now wasn’t a good time to do so. After all, the summer evening storm was about to roll in; the dark clouds looked over the burning dusk horizon and a soft patter of rain pounded on the roof. It would be nice to go out on the patio and watch the rain fall with a mug of warm tea at her disposal and ‘Cirice’ playing in her ears. It would be better than just opening up old wounds again, she tried to reassure herself.

But the pain just kept on coming and coming.

She lingered in the bathroom for a moment, eyeing the small razor blade again. The pointed edges were tantalizing her, beckoning her to come back in and slide the metal against the delicate flesh of her wrist. This was the moment she always hated, deliberating whether or not she should try and kill herself again. Her attempts were futile, and always landed her in trouble with her family. ‘The suicidal one’, she’d hear her cousins call her behind her back. ‘She has no life. She should be dead!’

Tears pooled in her eyes. She’s too desperate. She tries to please people too hard and it ends out terribly. She puts on a fake visage and personality, but people see right through it. She was just the shy, awkward girl with an interest in the strange and unusual, but to everyone else, she was the outsider. When she tried to engage in conversation, she was ignored, blocked out. If someone had lived in her footsteps for just a moment or two, they would wish they were dead. And they had good reason to.

She darted into the bathroom and held the small blade in between her fingers. _Yes,_ the voice in her head said, cut. _You’re a worthless, pathetic being. You shouldn’t be here. Let the blood remind you that the weak never succeed._

“Don’t.”

A crisp, accented voice stopped her.

The blade went crashing down to the counter as she turned her head to greet the stranger standing in the doorframe. She cupped her hands over her mouth and let out a gasp, which quickly turned into a soft cry of disbelief.

Papa Emeritus the third himself stood in front of her, dressed in his robes and wearing his usual face-paint. His mismatched eyes of white and green didn’t read of the cold amusement they normally did, but instead, they sparkled with concern, sympathy. He appeared just how he did in the promotional photos and YouTube videos, but seeing him in real life was much more magical.

She couldn’t believe it.

“Why?” she said, her voice quiet. Tears rolled down her face, sending black streams of makeup along with them. “Why did you save me?”

Papa took a step in front of her and wiped away her tears with his gloved hand.

“I didn’t mean to intrude, _principessa,_ but your dark thoughts have made me feel quite concerned.”

“You don’t know who I am. How did you find me?”

“All of the Children of Ghost have a special link to me,” Papa explained. “A bit far-fetched of a plan it may seem, but I can confirm that it’s true. Although we may all enjoy the darkness, the kind that ruins us and seeks to destroy us is not one we wish to flirt with. Your soul is one that I have been closely watching since my induction. I seek to reform the lost, damaged souls that enjoy the Church and what we offer, and yours is the first in my quest.”

“Like the Grim Reaper?”

“I do not wish to lead one on to death, _bella._ I am here to save you from it.”

Her body began to shake. She couldn’t even begin to question why or how Papa Emeritus became aware of her existence and decided to stop her from the task she should’ve done a long time ago. The band Ghost had literally saved her in more ways than one; the music relaxed her and the usually jovial natures of the Nameless Ghouls in interviews made her smile and laugh. She hadn’t smiled or shown any forms of happiness in over a year. But with Ghost, it felt like the happiness had never left. They made her feel welcomed into their dark, unholy sanctuary like she was another member of their worshippers. Being secluded and withdrawn for most of her life, this was the most included she’d ever been.

She let out a soft cry, gripping her hand on the edge of the counter. Papa was quick to go behind her and scoop her up in an embrace, wrapping his silk-covered arms around her neck. She buried her head into his shoulder, the cold silk chilling her face. In a way, Papa Emeritus had suddenly become her strange version of a guardian angel. She wasn’t quite sure how he’d found her, but for now, she would be eternally grateful for this moment. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence to have your favorite rock-star magically appear in your home and try to talk you out of something you dreaded to do.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”

Papa soothingly ran his hand through her thick locks of hair. “I don’t want you to try and harm yourself ever again, do you understand? You are too much of a beautiful girl in this wicked world for anyone to lose you. My Ghouls and I cannot lose you either. You have much potential, my _principessa._ I need you to go out and show the world what you are capable of. Can you do that for me?”

Sniffing, she nodded. “Yes, Papa.”

“Good.” A smile crept upon Papa’s face. “I will be waiting in the wings for your moment to shine.”

She wiped away the crusty makeup staining her face, and briefly looked down to retrieve a wipe. When she glanced back up, Papa had already disappeared, replaced by a soft, cold gust of wind. Had it only been a dream, or a hallucination she devised? But his embrace felt so real, and his appearance the same. It couldn’t have possibly been her imagination playing games with her again. Papa had just been here, in her home, and saved her from death again.

Washing her face, she walked out of the bathroom and back into her bedroom. A rose lay on her bed, its petals bloody red. A black string was tied against the thorny stem, and being careful not to prick her fingers, she moved the rose over to retrieve the small piece of paper lying against it. Unfolding it, she read the words written in a sprawling black text.

_Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?_


End file.
